


Gorgeous

by Livinginfictions



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Derek is too curious for his own good, Insecure Stiles Stilinski, M/M, More like a roller coaster, Oblivious Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Protective Derek, Stiles Stilinski Has Low Self-Esteem, and then it fucking dives into smut, gave me whiplash to write it, let alone read it, like super slow for a little bit, not slow burn, technically???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livinginfictions/pseuds/Livinginfictions
Summary: Derek didn’t actually notice anything strange until the middle of the pack’s second year, but once he realized how many layers of clothing Stiles wore all the time, he couldn't stop noticing it. Curiosity and worry ate away at him every time the weather turned warm, until he felt he had to do something about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, fun fact, this fic popped my m/m cherry. I don't know why I was so anxious about writing it for the first time. I guess you'll have to let me know if it was a success or not.
> 
> Many thanks to my sweet Beta, [PerseShow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerseShow) for giving it a quick once over before I posted it.

Derek didn’t actually notice anything strange until the middle of the pack’s second year when he spent his first warm weather with Scott and Stiles. He’d gotten used to the strange sleep clothes that Stiles wore: a bulky long sleeve shirt and loose sleep sweats, assuming that as a human Stiles just got cold during the winter. Beacon Hills lay in the northernmost part of California, so the temperature actually got below freezing occasionally. It made perfect sense, until it didn’t.

It was the first warm night of spring, and Derek was sweating even without his usual leather as he climbed up to Stiles’ window. The pane was open wide to let in a tiny breeze, but it didn’t do much except stir the stale air. He slipped into the room to find Stiles still up at his desk. The moon was just a sliver, so the only real light came in the form of the harsh blue glow of his laptop. It bounced off Stiles’ face, throwing the edges of his jaw and nose into sharp relief.

He was still wearing the same pajamas, and suffering for it. The area around the neckline was dark, and he smelled strongly of salty sweat. Just to be sure it wasn’t something more serious, Derek took another, deeper breath. There was nothing worrisome in his scent, just the usual tang of citrus and cinnamon. The brown hair that normally stuck up in every direction was laying relatively flat against his skull, heavy with moisture. He didn’t look surprised to see Derek either, and barely looked up from his typing to say, “One of these days, I swear to god, I’m gonna line the house in mountain ash so you have to knock before I let you in.”

“The window was open,” Derek defended.

It wasn’t like Derek wanted to break into the annoying teenager’s room, but he needed the research Stiles had promised him and Scott had claimed he was too busy to get it. Somewhere along the line Stiles had become the pack researcher, and while Derek would never admit it out loud, he did good enough work that it was better to get his help than try to find answers on his own.

Sure enough, Stiles pointed over to a labelled cream file on the corner of his desk. Originally he’d gathered his findings up in loose piles, then he’d upgraded to actually stapling things or paper clipping them. Now he had a short, locked filing cabinet next to his study space filled with copies of everything he had to look up, so his research could never properly be destroyed. Derek definitely preferred getting things in organized files, so he didn’t complain about the extra time Stiles spent on it. Much.

As he flipped through the printed articles and handwritten notes Stiles had prepared on the non-violent water elemental taking up residence in the pond in the middle of the Preserve, Derek couldn’t help glancing at him again. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, tugging at his neck and occasionally flapping the bottom edge of his shirt with one hand to cool off.

Never one for much tact, Derek asked, “Why are you wearing that?”

“What?” Stiles finally turned to him properly, eyebrows raised.

“You’re going to have a heat stroke or something.”

Stiles’ brow lifted even further, “Since when do you even know about heat strokes? Werewolves can’t get them, right?”

Suddenly regretting his decision to bother making conversation, Derek dropped his attention back down to his file. Unable to keep his voice from shifting to something quieter he said, “There were humans in my pack. Heat stroke was a big deal in the summer.”

Stiles went quiet for a second, before abruptly spinning his chair to face the laptop again. Beginning to type rapidly with his obscenely long fingers, he shrugged. “Not all of us can sleep in the nude, my dude. Especially with your wolfy butt climbing up my tower every other night. Speaking of, shoo. I’ve got a 10 page essay due tomorrow that I started two hours ago.”

For a second Derek actually wanted to argue the point. Stiles wasn’t quite pack, just like Scott wasn’t, but he was close enough for Derek’s Alpha instincts to perk up. Besides, if he got a stroke and ended up in the hospital or something, Derek would be screwed if he needed someone to look something up.

But they didn’t do that, and pointing out Stiles’ vulnerability as a human was a surefire way to get him to refuse to help, so instead he snarked, “So what, you’ve got another page left to write?” Everyone knew high school was more like a part time job than anything else to Stiles. He was as far from stupid as you could get, while still being an absolute idiot.

Stiles grinned, his teeth shining blue in front of his electronics. “Two pages, actually, but I’m glad to see you have such faith in my abilities.”

And that was enough of Stiles to last until the next time Derek needed help. He growled a little, his usual goodbye, and jumped out the window onto the grass with his research in hand. He had an agreement to work out with a living puddle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, we still haven't hit the smut dive yet. And to be fair, it's pretty tame smut, like the most vanilla bullshit you've ever seen. But seeing as I've never been a huge smut writer, I'm still nervous about it.

After that the weather cooled off again, and Derek stopped worrying about it. Not that he’d been worried in the first place. There were better things to think about, like getting Erica, Boyd, and Isaac through their last couple months of junior year without killing anyone. He knew they had enough control to behave on the full moon, but Scott was always calling him up and yelling at him for not keeping them from losing their temper in the classrooms. Isaac flat out denied it, Boyd wouldn’t say anything, and Erica was always completely unrepentant.

On the last day of school, Derek went to pick up his Betas with the A/C blasting. It had to be at least 90 degrees, and while it took temperatures well into the hundreds for a werewolf to actually start having a bad reaction to heat, they could still be uncomfortable.

Erica appeared at the front doors in a tube top and mini skirt that had to be breaking some kind of school rule, Boyd and Isaac were wearing tanks, and even Scott came out to say goodbye in cargo shorts and a slightly damp white t-shirt. Stiles on the other hand, was dressed the same as usual. Dark jeans, at least two shirts, and a hoodie to top it all off. He had to be melting underneath it all, but he was giving everyone his normal shit eating grin like nothing was wrong.

When the Betas had climbed into the car with their usual bickering over the front seat, like Erica wasn’t going to win every time, Derek pulled out of the parking lot before asking, “Is Stiles sick?”

“What? No, why?” Erica frowned, but didn’t stop adjusting her lipstick in the mirror.

Trying his best not to look concerned, because he damn well wasn’t, Derek said, “I don’t see why he’d be wearing so many layers in this weather unless he was sick.”

To his surprise, Isaac and Erica just laughed. “That’s just how he is,” Isaac explained, “Stiles likes his layers, even during practice. I think I asked him about it once and he said something like ‘I burn faster than wolfsbane in the sun’.”

That got even Boyd to chuckle, and none of them sounded bothered, so Derek dropped it.

After that it just got more obvious. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac started inviting Scott, Stiles, Kira, and Liam to the loft to hang out, and then to the Preserve where they could play lacrosse or just train for a while as themselves without worrying about shifting.  No matter the temperature, Stiles showed up in no less than three layers, covering himself from the neck down. It was fine while they were in the air conditioned loft, but after hours of sitting in the heat or playing goalie, Derek started throwing water bottles at his head out of sheer frustration.

“If you pass out, I’m not helping anyone get you home. Scott can carry you for all I care.” He threw another bottle at Stiles that thunked him in the chest and rolled down into his lap, the condensation leaving a wet stripe on the fabric.

Stiles didn’t even respond, just chugged half the bottle and threw it back. Even worse, no one else seemed to care that Stiles was basically cooking himself in his clothes.

When he’d finally had enough, Derek cornered Scott as everyone was getting ready to leave.

“Does Stiles have an inability to wear appropriate clothes?”

Scott’s face scrunched up in confusion, “I thought it was just a Star Wars joke I didn’t get.”

Huffing, Derek jerked his head at where Stiles was letting Erica, Liam, and Boyd climb into his Jeep to give them rides home. “No. Why is he wearing so much clothing in this heat? For that matter, as his Alpha, why are you letting him?”

Understanding dawned on Scott’s face, but it just made him grimace. “That’s just how Stiles likes to dress. He’s been wearing that kind of stuff since the end of middle school, I think. If he weren’t feeling well, I’d know, but I’m not going to tell him what to wear.”

It rubbed Derek the wrong way, but most things about Stiles did, and no one else saw any issues with it. Other than packing extra water, Derek left it alone for a while.

It didn’t matter. Stiles wasn’t going to let himself get sick, and he had his own pack to worry about it. Derek was probably just projecting because he wasn’t used to having someone so breakable around.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh. A little confrontation!

Derek avoided thinking about Stiles even more than usual, but throughout the summer, and into the teens’ senior year, he couldn’t help making adjustments where it was obviously needed. Stiles got drinks from the cooler first, and carried the least amount of equipment when they all headed out into the Preserve or down to the river, and whenever he rode in the Camaro he got front seat so he was right in front of the A/C. Stiles, of course, was incapable of being appreciative and teased Derek mercilessly.

When the weather cooled off again, Derek stopped. Mostly. He was only doing these things to make sure he wasn’t stuck taking Stiles to the ER, but even though Stiles was an ungrateful little shit, Derek could see the difference it made.

Even simple things, like keeping the temperature in his loft a little cooler than was comfortable for Derek, had an effect. Suddenly, Stiles no longer felt the need to spread out over Derek’s couch and refuse to move. Instead, he wandered endlessly, touching and messing with everything he could get his hands on, leaving his scent all over the loft. He jumped up on counters and tables and followed Derek as he explained the latest threat or nuisance to peace in Beacon Hills. Derek couldn’t decide which he hated more: Stiles lazily shouting to him from the couch, or the constant, inescapable tingle of  _ Stiles _ in his nose, but he was willing to deal with it for the sake of Stiles’ health.

He’d stopped asking about the clothing after a snide comment from Erica about whether Derek  _ really _ wanted Stiles to wear less, but it still absolutely bewildered him. Why the hell did Stiles insist on covering himself from head to toe at all times? No matter how hot the room got, Stiles never bowed to removing even his topmost jacket. In Derek’s old pack, they’d never been remotely shy, and pretty much every day was a shirt-optional day for both genders. Werewolves were warm blooded, and from what Derek had noticed the numerous times he’d had to drag Stiles to safety or haul him around just for the hell of it, Stiles was too.

Nearing graduation, Derek couldn’t contain himself anymore. He told himself that he was just trying to make things easier, that he just wanted to stop having to worry about Stiles all the time. But, honestly, he was insanely curious.

The perfect opportunity arrived during a research session that’d started out as a multi-pack thing and quickly thinned out with vague excuses until Derek and Stiles were the only ones left. They sat on opposite sides of Derek’s couch and sifted through worn notebooks and dusty tombs in near silence. Every once in a while, Stiles would play with the zipper on his red hoodie, pulling it up and down with his spare hand.

After complaints from nearly every wolf about how even  _ they _ thought it was cold, Derek had relented and turned the heat up. Spending so long adjusting the temperature to what would be comfortable for Stiles left Derek sensitive to the warmth of the room, and he knew as soon as the temperature rose to un-Stiles-friendly levels. He considered turning the heat off once the others left, but Stiles had looked totally fine. Now though, there was a tiny sheen to his forehead and his scent had begun to soak into the warm air of the room, refreshing the near claim he’d previously left on Derek’s home.

Derek’s question burned in his throat and he was so focused on convincing himself not to ask, he actually twitched when Stiles was the one to speak.

“Is something wrong with your heater or something? It’s kinda hot.”

That was a first. Stiles  _ never _ complained about heat. Cold, yes, profusely, but he never said a word about being too hot, probably worried about someone trying to get him to remove a layer.

This was a controlled space, where Derek could monitor Stiles’ health easily, and could cool things off any time he wanted. Essentially, it was a chance to get some answers.

Derek left his voice vague and uninterested as he muttered, “I don’t feel anything.”

“Really? I thought all you werewolves liked it cold. It’s never this warm in here,” Stiles replied. Derek flipped a page in his book, but he could feel Stiles eyes still on him.

He shrugged. “I guess someone turned the heat up.”

“Right, right.”

A few moments later, Stiles played with his zipper again, rasping the slider down the entire length of his hoodie, then inching it back up again.

To be honest, Derek had never actually tried letting Stiles know it was  _ okay _ to take off extra layers. “If you wanna take that off, you can put it anywhere,” he offered.

Immediately, Stiles zipped the hoodie up nearly to his chin. “Nope, I’m good, thanks.”

It was too much. “I thought you said you were too warm.”

“Uh, no. I’m good, really.”

“ _ Stiles _ . Just take off the hoodie.”

“No!”

“Why the hell not? You dress like a pretentious hippy year round, melting in the summer and freezing your ass off in the winter. I really doubt it’d kill you to take off one layer.”

Derek didn’t realize he’d gone too far until Stiles stood up, book still held loosely in one hand. Silent and seething, he kept eye contact with Derek as he crossed the loft to sit on Derek’s bed, directly below the heater.

He stayed there the rest of the night and Derek didn’t bother trying to change his mind. Just to be spiteful, Derek also didn’t turn the heat down. By the time Stiles slunk out of the loft with a pile of notes to organize, the entire loft carried that same salty scent and his sheets were soaked with citrus and cinnamon, like an herbal tea in human form. Derek fell asleep conjuring images that he normally would’ve pushed away, possible reasons why Stiles would be so against showing any skin.

A skin condition was unlikely, as Derek would be able to smell any type of illness. A scar was possible, but if Stiles had been cocooning himself in clothing since middle school, it definitely wasn’t anything supernatural related. Fear of injury maybe? But surely by now he knew Derek and the others would protect him? It pricked at Derek, being so worried about a non-pack member.


	4. Chapter 4

It was unbelievable, the way Stiles actually added  _ more _ clothing to his daily outfits. Derek hated that no one else noticed, that he focused enough on Stiles to immediately register the addition of decorative scarves over the next few days. They were light, nearly transparent, and Derek knew their only purpose was to piss him off. Then there was the beanie, and the fingerless gloves, and then one night a few weeks after graduation, Stiles showed up at the loft to join the pack for a movie night in a leather jacket.

While Derek’s own jacket gave off a carefully constructed aura of intimidation, Stiles’ was far more nonchalant. The leather was thin, and fit snugly over his usual hoodie, plaid, and t-shirt. Derek would have thought with all the layers Stiles would start to look like a marshmallow, but his figure was as slim as always.

It was absolutely infuriating.

Pack or not, there was a line of idiocy and Stiles had crossed it ages ago. Biding his time, Derek obligingly turned the A/C just a little higher as everyone settled in for the impromptu Kill Bill marathon. Then he took his usual place in the opposite corner of the couch from Stiles and didn’t look his way for the next four hours.

His nonchalance worked so well that when everyone was leaving and he finally called out Stiles’ name, Stiles actually jumped. Derek didn’t have to explain himself in any way other than jerking his head toward a pile of books to get Stiles to redirect his footsteps back into the loft.

Derek kept up the pretense of handing over possibly useful volumes only until he was sure his voice wouldn’t be overheard by the group of wolves exiting the apartment building.

“I need to know.”

“No, you don’t.” 

The instant response startled Derek. Maybe he hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought. At least, not to Stiles, anyway.

Derek’s hands paused on the book in front of him. “Yes, I do.”

Again, Stiles spoke in the same breath. “It’s none of your business.”

Snarling, Derek yanked the old texts out of Stiles’ hands and slammed them back down on the table. “Your health and safety are my business.”

They always were, and Derek couldn’t tell who was more the idiot for not knowing before now: Stiles or himself.

“It’s got nothing to do with my health or safety, asshole.” Stiles was meeting him head on, eyes blazing and teeth bared like any born wolf might. Even the light of the lamp on the table turned his normally amber eyes a silky gold. All that was missing were the fangs.

It was strange, being the one to stay calm while Stiles became more agitated. Normally Stiles was the one driving Derek to distraction and fury by making stupid jokes or arguing for the sake of being difficult. Now, Derek couldn’t even bring himself to flash his eyes. His heart had steadied the moment he heard the truth in Stiles’ statement. It really wasn’t about Stiles being scared or hurt, and that was the part that had been worrying him.

All that was left was curiosity. “Then what is it?”

“Not all of us get to be supernaturally attractive, along with being just plain supernatural. Between Isaac and Scott, and even Boyd’s serious offense at just the idea of wearing clothes, and Lydia and Kira and Erica. I would blame it on actual magic, except Allison’s human and even she’s stupidly hot. And then there’s  _ you _ . And I’m nowhere close, never have been. Scotty passed me the instant we hit high school, okay? Did you ever stop to think it might be fucking awkward for me?” Stiles had barely paused to take a breath, and he dropped off like whatever he’d been about to say had gotten caught in his throat. Instead he stood, breathing hard.

Try as he might, Derek had no idea what Stiles was going on about. “Awkward how? What does the pack’s looks have to do with you wearing too much?”

Derek know something about the conversation had gone seriously askew when Stiles laughed bitterly and yanked at his jacket, dragging it in jerks down his shoulders and throwing it onto the couch. “Wearing too much? Are you serious? Here, is this enough? Are your stupid Alpha instincts happy? Don’t try to pretend like this is you being concerned for my wellbeing.”

“Stiles, what—”

“— ‘Awkward how,’ very funny. Like I don’t have it shoved in my face every time we go to the Preserve, or in public, or literally anywhere?”

“Have  _ what _ shoved in your face?”

Stiles finally seemed to lose it. “Me! My sheer inadequacy! The fact that I am the most unimpressive specimen in Beacon Hills. At least the rest of them have the decency to let me cover up in peace, but  _ noo _ . Derek the Alpha just has to hear me say it out loud!”

Still not sure he was on the right topic, Derek squinted at Stiles, trying to see whatever Stiles saw that he disliked so much. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

If anything, Derek had always thought Stiles looked the most supernatural of anyone in the pack. Sure, werewolves had certain mannerisms that made them stand out amongst humans, and Kira had the whole blazing fox aura going for her, but for the most part, they all just looked like normal people, Derek included. Stiles on the other hand, held something otherworldly about him. It was almost faelike: the tiny upturn of his nose at the tip that gave him a constant look of mischief, the constellations of moles across his jaw and down his neck that looked like he’d been kissed by pure magic and some kind of mark had to be left behind.

Now that it’d grown out, his messy hair made him look like a wild thing, while his long eyelashes feigned innocence whenever he needed them to. It was impossible to look at his mouth without picturing the thousands of lies and half-truths he’d thrown out on a whim, charming and confusing enemies to protect his friends with the kind of ease trickster spirits only dreamt of. But it was the sheer grace that he carried himself with, only when he managed to lose awareness of himself, that really gave the impression of nature personified. Walking down a hall, trying to intimidate or flirt, Stiles was more likely to trip over his own momentum than anything else. Watching him explain a well researched concept or think out loud, however, he tended to play with his surroundings. He stretched over the backs of chairs and tossed trinkets back and forth in his palms. He twirled pens and twigs between long fingers and popped anything remotely chewable into his mouth to keep his tongue busy.

As lost as he was in his own anger, Stiles held that same energy standing in front of Derek. His fingers twitched quickly for a few moments of tense silence. “Don’t patronize me,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” Derek blurted. “Stiles, you’re…” The actual words he wanted to use weren’t things he let himself think, let alone say.

Stiles took his speechlessness a totally different direction. “ _ What, Derek? _ I’m what? What—exactly—would you call—this?” He punctuated each each section of his sentence by pulling off another layer, chucking them across the loft until he was left shirtless in the slight chill of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yah gotta know, I honestly considered just posting this all at once, but I just hate meshing scenes and chapters and stuff.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, something is happening.

It took quite a few swallows for Derek to choke even the breathless, “Uh…” that he got out.

His throat was drier than the Savannah, and his eyes would  _ not _ stay still. Somehow, even after all the near death experiences and injuries he knew Stiles had experienced, Derek had never seen Stiles shirtless.

He’d never have imagined that the moles might continue down his arms and chest, or that goosebumps could be so enticing. Predictably, Stiles was pale from keeping covered all the time, but it only added to his fae appearance. The moonlight coming in through the floor to ceiling window seemed to find a home in his chest where it hit, while the lamp cast a soft yellow warmth to his lower stomach and wrists. If muscles were what Stiles thought he lacked, he clearly didn’t pay enough attention to himself because there were definitely there. Wiry, running strength tightened his abdomen and his biceps bulged as Stiles clenched his fists at his sides.

Derek hadn’t...at least not consciously...Stiles was off limits. In more ways than one. He was Scott’s best friend, for one thing, and completely uninterested for another. And...a million other reasons just seemed to fly out of Derek’s head as fast as they appeared, and he couldn’t for the life of him look away.

Eventually, the furious confidence Stiles had been running on faded, and his eyes went wide. “ _ Holy shit _ , I don’t know why I did that.” As innocent as a virgin, Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and began to turn away in the direction that he’d thrown his t-shirt.

Derek’s hands acted without consulting him, and latched onto Stiles’ wrists, tugging lightly until they were back down at Stiles’ sides. “Gorgeous,” he managed.

A whole new scent bloomed on Stiles’ skin, even as his body went rigid. “Not funny.”

Breathing deep to keep his own courage, Derek growled, “Not joking.” He recognized the scent, knew exactly what it meant and exactly what it didn’t mean, so while he kept his grip on Stiles firm, he didn’t make any move to get closer.

“You—look, I really don’t need—”

“Let me convince you.” Chancing a half-step inward, Derek hesitantly let go of Stiles’ wrists to slide his hands up pale forearms. “Let me convince you, or tell me to stop,” he offered.

Stiles didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree either, so Derek used the lightest push to shift Stiles until he had his back to the window and the book covered table.

“Well?” he whispered, stilling the guiding movements.

Stiles was trembling slightly, and his eyes were bouncing around the room. His response came out so quiet even Derek had to struggle to hear it. “Okay.”

It wasn’t the emphatic yes Derek had hoped for, so he double checked. “Okay?”

Apparently even the slightest hesitation was enough to make a normally bold and brash Stiles nervous. He cleared his throat twice before muttering, only slightly louder, “I mean, if you really want—”

“I do.” To emphasize his point, Derek swept the pads of his fingertips up to Stiles’ shoulders, then back down to their previous place just above his wrists.

The shiver his touch caused was gratifying, and so was the breathy “Then sure, I—yeah.”

Derek didn’t want to waste precious time, so he pushed forward again immediately, backing Stiles up to the table and then pushing a little more. When Stiles didn’t get the point right away, Derek scooped his hands under Stiles’ thighs and lifted him until he was sitting on the edge of the solid wood.

Using the excuse of needing to shove the scattered books to the side, Derek leaned in until his shirt was pressed against Stiles’ skin and his mouth was next to Stiles’ ear. “Gorgeous,” he whispered. If it was the last thing he did, Derek was going to make that word sink in. In fact, he had a lot of words he wanted to imprint on Stiles’ skin, and he muttered them one after the other as he worked his way down Stiles’ chest. He didn’t let his lips do more than brush against the soft skin, and relished in the slight tingle the friction caused for him, and the shudders it caused for Stiles.

“Beautiful. Ethereal. Exquisite.”

The shock of the situation could only keep Stiles quiet for so long. “You’re quite the thesa... _ ahhh _ ,  _ fuck _ .”

Annoyed at the interruption, Derek had forgone anything more gentle and bit firmly on the ridge of Stiles’ hip. While he was there, he swept his tongue across the skin and grazed his teeth upwards a little. The effect was astonishing as Stiles collapsed backward onto his elbows, the moonlight blocked only by his still tilted head, and the sliver of incandescent yellow light from the lamp.

With one hand Derek reached out and flicked the switch off, letting the moon light the room by itself. Then, to encourage Stiles’ position even further, he jumped to a spot just below Stiles’ ribs on his left side, to a taunt patch of skin that he just  _ knew _ would be sensitive, and latched his lips onto it. Sucking firmly, he swirled his tongue in circles to soothe the sting before it could become uncomfortable, letting up only once Stiles dropped fully onto the table with a choked off groan.

He was  _ glowing _ , and the sure to purple mark Derek left stood out starkly amidst the pearly white of his body. Finally, the itch Derek had been feeling for ages was completely gone. It vanished the instant he got a taste of Stiles on his tongue. How he’d been able to convince himself that Stiles wasn’t pack, wasn’t even more important than that, for so long, was a mystery that Derek didn’t want to stop to solve. Even the insistent need burning in his chest and tightening his jeans couldn’t distract him from his goal.

As a slight apology for his sudden intensity, Derek backed off slightly, switching to feather light kisses over Stiles’ abdomen. When he heard a staccato beat of fingers against wood, he paused. Incapable of staying still, Stiles’s hands were trembling and bouncing around, searching for then pushing away the edges of books. To give his agitation purpose, Derek took both Stiles’ hands and led them to his own head. As soon as they touched the tips of his hair, they took on their own agency and buried deep, massaging his scalp and tugging a little at his locks until he buried his face in Stiles’ stomach and hummed.

“Really, Derek, I’m not…”

Growling quietly, Derek licked a strip up Stiles’ chest and pulled him upright again before planting his lips on Stiles’ to silence him properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See what I mean? It's kinda body worship, but...not really?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is up late, I'm easily distracted.

Stiles’ surprised moan made Derek moan in kind, and he hooked his fingers together behind Stiles’ neck to hold him in place as he dipped his tongue into Stiles’ mouth, stroking along Stiles’ own tongue, then sucking the bottom lip Stiles nibbled at constantly between his teeth to see what all the fuss was about. It was worth it, as Stiles’ upper half went lax in Derek’s arms, and his lower half tensed and clung, his previously hanging legs wrapping around Derek’s waist.

“Ages. I think I’ve been waiting ages,” Derek gasped as he pulled away to kiss down Stiles’ jaw, shifting the position of his head to better put Stiles’ long neck on display.

This time, rather than argue, Stiles sighed into Derek’s ear, “Can’t remember?”

Derek shook his head, nosing at Stiles’ pulse at the same time.

“Me either,” Stiles agreed.

Suddenly kissing Stiles wasn’t nearly so important as getting his pants unbuttoned, but Stiles appeared to have other plans. He started lifting up the hem of Derek’s Henley, whining softly. “So not fair, you’re still dressed.”

But that wasn’t the point of this experience. Derek bit lightly at a cord of muscle along Stiles’ shoulder. “I’m going to stay that way, this time. Feel free to touch, but I plan to distract you.”

Stiles tried to take advantage of the offer, but Derek pushed him back down to the table, laughing a little at the frustrated huff Stiles let out. Since it was the only place he could reach from his position, Stiles slid his hands back into Derek’s hair and resumed their tugging.

Mouthing at the strip of skin just above Stiles’ waistband, Derek finally got to work unbuttoning it. At the last second, before the zipper could slide more than a couple unwilling notches down the bulge in Stiles’ jeans, Derek peered up at Stiles’ face.

His jaw was slack, and because the table wasn’t quite wide enough, his head was tilted slightly down the other end, leaving his neck stretched and bare and gulping in air. Derek didn’t doubt that his eyes were closed, though he couldn’t see them.

“Can I?” he asked. Then, before Stiles even had the chance to formulate the word  _ If _ , he added, “Please?”

The frantic nodding that followed made Stiles’ head thump slightly against the wood, but he didn’t seem to mind, especially as Derek finally unzipped his jeans and slid them and his boxer briefs down just far enough to free his erection.

Derek took a couple moments to appreciate his position, both physical and metaphorical then leaned down to blow lightly on Stiles’ heated flesh, making his cock twitch. “ _ Gorgeous _ .”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Stiles breathed, sounding nearly pained.

Unwilling to move, Derek just peered up through his lashes at where Stiles had his head lifted in what looked like an uncomfortable angle. “Yes?”

“Just— _ fuck _ .” With the gift of werewolf sight, Derek watched Stiles’ pupils dilate to the extreme at the view before him, and just to be difficult, licked softly at the head of Stiles’ cock. Stiles whined again and dropped his head backwards to stare at the ceiling. “Uh, just, this isn’t going to be one of those things where we pretend it never happened in the morning, is it?”

Even the idea that Stiles might think Derek was in this for anything less than the long haul felt like an affront to the entire reason Derek had started this, but rather than nip Stiles’ hip in punishment, Derek just put as much feeling as he could into murmuring, “That was never going to be an option.”

Then, to prevent Stiles from saying anything else remotely self-deprecating, Derek held Stiles at his base and took him in his mouth. He smoothed the way with his tongue and bobbed up once before swallowing him down all the way and taking long pulls. Swirling his tongue up and around the head every so often at the same speed that his free thumb was rubbing circles into Stiles’ hip. It was hard to focus on actually remembering to move when Stiles had apparently lost all control of his voice, moaning almost nonstop with only slight breaks for panting and whimpers.

His fingers in Derek’s hair tightened after a couple minutes, tugging harder until Derek pulled off, replacing his lips with his hand and stroking lightly with a tiny twist at the very top that forced little  _ ah ah ah _ ’s out of Stiles.

“Do you believe me?” Derek rumbled, voice rough.

He had no desire to make Stiles wait, but when Stiles didn’t respond, Derek couldn’t help slowing his hand to a snail pace. He paused his fist at Stiles’ head just long enough to make his hips jump and thrust his cock into it before moving back down and asked again.

“Do you believe me, Stiles?”

“Believe what?” Stiles spit the words out quickly, as though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it any slower before something interrupted him.

Taking a quick break to lubricate Stiles with his mouth, Derek bobbed once, then twice, then pulled off again, this time using quick, firm strokes. “That you’re gorgeous?”

Maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to ask Stiles right then, because his eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was stretched wide, and when he panted, “Yes, yes,  _ yesyesyes _ ,” there was no way to tell whether it was because he really did believe, or because he was coming.

As his orgasm hit, Stiles’s words broke off into a whine at the back of his throat and he spent himself in long stripes up his own torso, only able to nod once at Derek’s last uttering of, “Gorgeous.”

Coming down took him a good few seconds, and Derek stroked him through it until he began to shudder hard with oversensitivity. Then, Derek leaned over Stiles’ body, careful not to let his shirt fall into the mess on Stiles’ chest, and kissed him lightly on the jaw, nose, and lips.

“I want you to stay here, please. I’ll be right back.”

Long fingers trailed down Derek’s neck and caressed his stubble with an over familiarity that Derek had come to appreciate long ago. “Mhhm…”

It felt like a triumph to see Stiles spread out so carelessly in his own nudity, completely unselfconscious even in his debauched state. Derek left only long enough to grab a warm, damp washcloth to clean Stiles up, but by the time he’d returned, there was a new red flush over most of Stiles’ skin. 

Stiles had one hand over his eyes and the other skittered over his side and plucked at his jeans as though he was considering pulling them up, mess be damned. Derek hesitated slightly as he reached Stiles’ side, a sudden wave of worry washing over him. If Stiles regretted it…

But the moment his hand touched Stiles’ at his waistband, the tension in Stiles released and though he kept his eyes covered, he smiled wide. “That’s one way to combat low self-confidence.”

Derek cleaned him up slowly, kissing newly clean areas, and only letting Stiles sit up and hop off the table once he was completely done. Stiles stayed languid as he let Derek kiss him, only attempting the tiniest of jumps to peck Derek on the cheek and brow and nose. “What’re the chances I get to try that on you next time you pull some of your self-sacrificing shit?”

It was nice to laugh, to gather Stiles up in his arms and hum into his shoulder and know that the heady scent of home wasn’t going to be leaving any time soon. “That depends on how much you’re wearing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ta da. My M/M cherry is officially popped. Goddamn, I keep forgetting how fucking difficult writing blowjobs is.

**Author's Note:**

> Because this fic is so short, I'll be posting a chapter a day until it's finished.  
> Come visit my [tumblr](https://asterekmess.tumblr.com/), to see the stuff I reblog and occasionally write about these two dorks.


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